Beech Tree Leaves

Beech trees grow in a patch of woods where I walk each morning. Due to the phenomenon called marcesence, the leaves of American beech, Fagus grandifolia stay on the branches until buds of new growth open in May. The leaves  began to fade from light orange to tan during the snowy months, all the while tenaciously clinging to the branches. This is the time when the leaves offer a sense of individuality. Affected by time and weather, the contracted poses such as curling and wrapping are captivating to observe. Here is a 10” x 10” oil on canvas painting called “Curl”.

Curl

Snow

Yesterday was our first snowstorm of the season. Here are two paintings from a past winter. Both were inspired by the woods around our house.

A few lines of a “snow” poem are rattling around in my head. It is Lisel Mueller’s poem called, “Not Only The Eskimos”. Here is the beginning part of this lengthy poem:

“We have only one noun
but as many different kinds:

the grainy snow of the Puritans
and snow of soft, fat flakes,

guerrilla snow, which comes in the night
and changes the world by morning,

rabbinical snow, a permanent skullcap
on the highest mountains,

snow that blows in like the Lone Ranger,
riding hard from out of the West,

surreal snow in the Dakotas,
when you can't find your house, your street,
though you are not in a dream
or a science-fiction movie,….”

November

November is the month of beautiful browns. The forest is filled with layers of leaves offering an opportunity to give nuanced names to the color “ brown”. It is fun to mix, as as well as name, the colors. I see reddish-orangey browns, soft peachy- browns, rust-tinged orangey- browns and somber purplish-browns. Today is the last day of November and soon the browns will be covered with snow.

Here is my favorite Wendell Berry poem:

“When I rise up
let me rise up joyful
like a bird.

When I fall
let me fall without regret
like a leaf.”

Here are three tiny, 4” x 4” gouache paintings  of orangey-brown leaves.

Brambles

 The bramble leaves are now offering some interesting color changes. This past summer we were able to reach among the thorny stems to find some plump blackberries. Here are three tiny, 4” x 4” gouache paintings of some bramble leaves.

 I’ve chosen a snippet of a poem to accompany these paintings.

This is the last bit of Wendell Berry’s poem called, Grace.

“Again I resume the long

lesson: how small a thing

can be pleasing, how little

in this hard world it takes

to satisfy the mind

and bring it to it’s rest.”

Forest Floor

I miss the mushrooms. This year’s drought suppressed their growth. Last Fall the ground was populated by a variety of colorful and curiously shaped fungi. 

In Autumn I like to think of the forest floor as a tapestry with colors of dried leaves interwoven with mushrooms and evergreen plants. Here are three tiny, 4” x 4” gouache paintings of the forest floor, without mushrooms.

To accompany my paintings I’ve chosen some words from Suzanne Simard’s book, “Finding the Mother Tree: Discovering the Wisdom of the Forest.

“The mushroom is the visible tip of something deep and elaborate, like a thick lace tablecloth knitted into the forest floor.”

Field’s Edge

 September was filled with sun shiny days. I enjoyed a few hours painting at the edge of a field one day last week. Here is my 5” x 7”gouache painting along with a quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson.

“To the attentive eye, each moment of the year has its own beauty, and in the same field, it beholds, every hour, a picture which was never seen before and which shall never be seen again.”

Autumn

Autumn

As summer turns to fall I look forward to seeing a display of colorful leaves. Currently I am interested in the greenish - yellowish leaves of some bushes and am enjoying their playful designs.  Here are three tiny, 4”X 4” gouache paintings.

To accompany these images I have chosen an excerpt from Elizabeth Jennings’s poem called, “Song at the Beginning of Autumn”:

“But every season is a kind
Of rich nostalgia. We give names — 

Autumn and summer, winter, spring—

As though to unfasten from the mind

Our moods and give them outward forms.”